ooc; I have good news and bad news. I’ve got a job now. Which is going to mean more absence from me. And I’m so sorry for all these out of character posts and my lack of activity.
I applied originally for part-time, but my employer stressed they are also looking to hire some full-time positions. I’m in three days of training and then entering a two-week trial period to find out if this is a good fit for me. It goes from there. We’ll see what happens.
Bear with me—I’m going to reblog this to all my RP accounts for notice. So I apologize for Dash spam.
The movement wasn’t subtle; the injury had surprised the Republican a great deal. Most people didn’t walk around with injuries such as this nowadays, or at least, they didn’t show them. He cursed himself mentally. You’re an idiot; you should have known better than to do that, Joyce. How many times had he torn the scar open because of his own idiotic actions? He’d stopped keeping tabs long ago, but he knew he should have learned by now. Yet here he was, bleeding once again.
“… yeah.” Raven answered simply, not looking up from the injury, “It happens a lot.” he was slowly starting to speak more, trying to avoid their previous topic. The fact that he was still pursuing conversation with the Colonel spoke volumes of its own accord. Normally after such a confrontation he shut down due to the memories, but he had managed to prevent that from happening this time due to the combination of his injury and the presence of another.
The Imperial glanced over when Rob spoke again, watching his movements idly. After tearing his scar open, he had slowly allowed his guard to lower, but not completely. He was no longer as tense and he had shifted his weight; he was no longer ready to swing if he felt threatened. Now that he was sure Rob truly wasn’t a threat, he had disarmed himself and made himself a non-threat.
Rob’s next statement caused him to falter a bit. Even after silently giving him every opportunity to help, he stilled asked if it was alright? He had expected him to either give him the cloth or start cleaning it on his own, not ask for his choice in the matter. It was almost disorientating. He looked back to his scar after a second, taking a moment to think it over. Raven had only ever let a handful of people touch or tend to his injuries; maybe if he let more people help him, it would be for the best.
The pilot turned to Rob again, and was not expecting to see the Colonel smiling at him. People hardly ever smiled at him. He froze and just looked at him, unsure of what to make of the gesture. It was perhaps one of the last things he had expected to see from him, considering the nature of their previous conversation. Despite his confusion, however, Raven felt a corner of his mouth turn up a bit upon seeing that; the barest hints of his own smile.
“If you want to help, you can.” it was an open-ended answer, but it was the closest thing to a yes you can help that the Imperial could give.
Rob looked at him and questioned how silence shouldered everything. Testimony and the bland, empty taste of air on his tongue when he stopped and stared and swallowed—the cold, late and stagnant, the hint of something hidden and recovered. Once was lost.
There was something sentimental about it—appearances. Scars. He was holding out his hand like a wing, a shelter, a peace-kind of offering and weighted with the cloth that had been knotted up in his fingertips. Slowly, he came closer; slowly, he began to bite at the inside of his lip nearly to cut the flesh there as food for thought. And he wondered, wanting to meet Raven’s eyes in that moment. But the boy’s gaze was down, on the wounds, so his own eyes wandered.
“You don’t have to put up with it, kid.” So he said this surely, and stepped forward again, his brow hurting and all about him a most substantial kind of quiet. “It’s okay.”
He could have been catching water when he reached out for his hand; gradual and smooth and searching for the signs. Anything that would disclose a distress.
“C’mon. I’ll get you to a doctor who can treat this properly-” a slight tilt of the head, reconsideration. He wasn’t sure Raven would accept that. “Er, or if you’d rather, just some supplies to help.” All-the-while, he was looking.
But there was only what he remembered of Raven’s reply and the remnant of what he swore was a smile. He folded the cloth in half and inspected the scar, his own skin, and everything they had in common.
I forgive you.
And Rob smiled back, and it was genuine and clear. He was quick to wrap the kercheif about Raven’s palm and obscure all the blood. “You don’t have to suffer anymore.”
After an already unannounced 2 month hiatus (I’m so sorry), I have to say that it’s probably going to go for longer. I’m not going into details; things have been bad here. It will likely be that way for a long time to come.
In short, I’m not going to be around much, if at all; I have no energy or motivation to write, and I apologize profusely to those I’ve owed replies to.
I don’t know how long this is going to last, but I’ve had enough of struggling by the skin of my teeth trying to get things done on here. It just isn’t working. So the absence will likely continue, and I’m sorry. I tried. Maybe I’ll be able to pull it together in a while, but that has yet to come.
My most sincere apologies.
I’m putting this here as well, and I’m sorry for dash spam. I’m not going to bother with Aristarchos’, but it applies there as well.
Album: Feeding The Wolves
Played: 144 plays.
Fix Me | 10 Years
Thomas frowned and made a whining noise like a puppy when Rob escaped, sitting on the floor in a depressive lump. His prey had gotten away, yet again. “IF YOU WERE REALLY SORRY YOU WOULDN’T BE RUNNING AWAY RIGHT NOW, YOU OAF!” Thomas cried, wincing as he stood up and continued his search for the Colonel.
For a big guy, Rob could sure move pretty fast, Thomas mused. He would have to set a trap for the man. Hmm. Thomas glanced over to the closet, one of Karl’s uniforms hanging up. His face suddenly lit into a devious smile. Karl and him were about the same size…
He had his plan.
He did feel bad about hitting Thomas with the book. He really, really did. But he kept going, between split seconds, through a blur that resembled a hall… behind him some sort of shriek that might have been given through rage, ahead: lights and windows and a set of open doors.
Rob picked the one on the far right and nearly went toppling down something that dragged out a sigh of relief from his chest: the stairs. Caught himself on the rail, stared straight at the floor, went rocketing down like a clear bolt of lightning and rounded the corner without catching his feet there, or tripping.
Thomas was going to be there soon; he was dizzy with the dread. Went one way first, doubled over, dipped in the other direction and ran himself round in a circle. And then he came skidding to a stop. Looked around. For he was still stupidly lost.
Canyon River Aerials by Mike Reyfman
Thomas made a squeaking noise as the book hit him square in the nose. It wasn’t a particularly heavy book, but it startled him nonetheless. He picked up the book and took a glance at it, the cover lying on the floor from the impact. Wait. This wasn’t a textbook!
Her Majesty’s Men?
Intrigued, Thomas flipped it open and read a page, his face immediately paling.
WHAT KIND OF BOOK WAS THIS?!
Disgusted, (and albeit a little intrigued) he threw the book away, (making a mental note to come back later to finish reading his page) and turned his gaze back to the other occupant in the room. “That hurt!” Thomas pouted as he wiped his nose off. “It’s not like I’m gonna make you feel bad…”
He took the chance at once. Charged for the door and made sure to close it behind him when he fled down the length of the hallway like he was sprinting the last leg of a marathon. Half-holding his breath, half heaving, for he was still afraid and awkwardly lost in the labyrinth of a mansion.
Oops. He hadn’t meant to throw it that hard. “Sorry, Thomas!” he shouted back and scampered as quickly as he could, goal-point set: the stairs.
Now he only needed to start in the proper direction, this time.
OOC: OH MY GOD I LAUGHED SO HARD ASDLFJASLFDSF
Thomas made a giggling noise as he finally twisted the entire handle and opened the door, flinging it wide open. His eyes scanned the room and ultimately landed to the Republican in the corner with the… crap. The textbooks. This was Karl’s study. If an ammo book war was what the Colonel wanted, then a textbook war it would be. Thomas grabbed a book off the shelf and yelped when it was incredibly heavy. Okay. Plan two.
Plan two consisted of running rather quickly to the aforementioned corner and trying to jump on the terrified Colonel in question. A loud screech/mating call/what could be interpreted as a cry of war erupted from Thomas’ mouth as he launched himself from the middle of the room towards Herman.
Thomas had gone and grabbed some forsakenly thick text from the shelf by the door and Rob recoiled and clutched onto his own. He had to make it to the hall, map an escape-route and then go as fast as he possibly could for… wherever the stairs were.
Good job, you still haven’t figured that out, Herman.
He examined the collection of books in his arms and realized quickly that one of them wasn’t on tactics—it was some sappy romance novel masquerading with a different jacket. And it was old, and yellowing, and torn half-way down the middle like a sort of sacred sword in stone. It looked ancient and beaten, and battered every which way.
Okay, calm down for a sec here.
Another deep breath. He brought his arm back and managed some level of focus.
Karl’s gonna kill me for this.
When Thomas came tearing across the room, he sadly realized that he didn’t have much time left to react.
Ready, steady, aim, FIRE.
He hurled the book when Thomas decided to scream, and made a mad dash toward the side of the room. Eyes on the door. His chest all clenched and tight like his fists around the remaining two books he might have to throw next.
Thomas heard some noises coming from one of the rooms upstairs. Yep, definitely Herman’s voice, he snickered to himself. He was really enjoying this game of grab-ass. Hmm, that was odd though. Was the giant Republican… talking to himself…? No, he was a little odd, Thomas thought in his current state, but not odd enough to talk to himself. He quickly figured out that Rob was definitely talking to someone, but he didn’t remember letting anyone in the house, or hearing anyone come in? Hmm. Peculiar indeed, but Thomas didn’t really mind. More food for the fodder, anyway.
“Oh Heeeeeeermaaaaan,” he called out in a strangely seductive-sounding sing song voice as he rounded the corner towards a door. “I can hear you! Like I said, you can run, but you can’t hide from meeeeee~ Your ass will be mine, quite literally!” He called out, preparing to open the door he thought Herman was hiding behind.
Every sound made him jump, and when he tripped over his own feet, it didn’t serve him better. Rob found himself on the floor in a heap and frantically scrambling to right himself and figure out which way he’d come from. Curses. And he swore more at himself, his eyes did a dance and landed on the knob of the door beginning to turn.
He ran in the other direction. Circled the room once before realizing, much to his dismay, that Thomas was blocking the only way out, and he’d no other route of escape.
At that point, he was rather frantic, and panicked to the extreme, and he thought that his pulse might pound all sense out of him, for he could hear his heartbeat in his throat and his brain and in every step he took, away, to the back wall. Frowning in absolute horror. His gaze was dark and terrified. His lips and his shoulders were shaking.
He grabbed an armful of books from the shelf, too many military volumes and one that he could have sworn had to do with yoga. Ammo at the ready. “I’m warning you,” he watched the door. He took a breath and howled, “Keep away!”
He was wondering who had messaged him, since Irvine’s icon wasn’t on the screen, puzzled expression, furrowed brow. Then he scrolled to the name, grinned wildly, and made sure not to walk right into the next door when he neared the corner.
TOBYYYY. Where’ve you been all this time, huh? Had me worried.
He stubbed his toe on it anyway and grumbled something that almost came out as a curseword.
I’d like to see you keep calm after your ass just got grabbed.
And he was frowning, again.